


giving in

by Kehlia



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, completely self-indulgent, set in an universe in which jim isn't too much of an asshole towards oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kehlia/pseuds/Kehlia
Summary: Jim walks to the precinct feeling miserable. He had postponed thinking about it until now, but he has to face the facts:He wants Oswald.Nothing can happen.





	giving in

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I post anything I've written, especially in English. be kind. x

 

Jim tries to keep him out, he really does. He’s a cop. Oswald is a gangster. Somehow Oswald never saw the issue here, always keeps insisting they are old friends. _You’re always welcome, Jim. How can I help you?_

Oswald always comes back. All smiles, and adoring eyes. Pressing, finding a way into Jim’s life.

Were it any other criminal Jim would know it is only an attempt to manipulate him, but Oswald is different. He uses familiarity, yes, seeking proximity. But there is no deception here. No, it is raw honesty that Jim finds in Oswald’s eyes, gazing at him. Earnest devotion. It is unsettling, and certainly not something Jim is used to in his line of work. And Oswald keeps blurring the lines.

_Hello, old friend._

_This isn’t a social call, Penguin._

_Oh, well- you know I’m always happy to help._

But he could tell. The faltering of a smile, the waver in his voice.

The worst of it is - Oswald never once tried to hide his adoration. Never once thought Jim would use that against him. He is innocent in that way. And that complicates things, doesn’t it, because Jim is trying to make sense of it all and the answer he finds flusters him.

It is quite possible Oswald is smitten with him.

__

  
Jim mentions it to Harvey one time, in passing, who of course makes a show of choking with laughter in his beer.

“That’s one way to look at it, sure. I say he’d be on his knees for you the moment you say the word.”

Jim shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, and quickly changes the subject.

__

  
It isn’t the same after that, because Jim doesn’t want to use Oswald, doesn’t want to be cruel to him either. It results in him distancing himself, going through twice as much trouble to get a name he could get from Oswald for a hello and a smile. He just isn’t the kind of person who takes advantage of people’s... feelings. Or whatever that is.

But he is pretty much at the center of the criminal activity in Gotham, so it isn’t long until he must ring him again.

They meet for coffee. Or rather, they meet to exchange information on a case Jim’s working on and Oswald insists on buying him coffee, so they meet at the shop at the corner of the street. Jim lays everything before him, and Oswald listens a little too intently, drinking his words. Smiles when he shares information that is going to make Jim’s case so much easier to solve.

And Jim hates what he sees in his eyes, because he knows he hasn’t earned this devotion, doesn’t even deserve Oswald’s trust. He hates himself for not knowing what to do when he smiles at him like that. It’s as if Oswald didn’t know the darkest parts of him. As if he isn’t the one most acquainted with them.

As always, he gives him a quick smile and avoids his gaze.

It’s raining when they’re finished, which is not rare for Gotham, but Jim walked here and hasn’t thought of bringing an umbrella. When Oswald sees him hesitate at the doorstep, he hands him his.

“My driver is here. Just drop it off at my place when you can,” he says, lingering a moment before disappearing.

__

  
The next day proves to be a long day at work. Jim stays late to help with paperwork he hates to do but doesn’t really trust Harvey to take care of, and leaves the precinct long after the sun has set.

He walks home to catch some peace. It feels good to breathe some air, even Gotham’s.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He arrives at his apartment feeling a little calmer, only to find Oswald in a puddle of blood next to his door.

“God dammit, Oswald,” Jim blurts out as he rushes to his side.

“Do not worry, Jim, I’ve suffered worse and survived.” Oswald smiles in pain, his forehead wet with sweat.

“What are you doing here?” Jim says as he presses a hand to Oswald’s wound and rummages through his pocket for his keys.

“I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t possibly go to the hospital-”

“No-- I mean, you’re bleeding in the middle of the hallway. You didn’t pick the lock? I assumed that’s the kind of thing you’d do.”

“I wouldn’t break in your place.”

“You can’t stand, can you.”

“I collapsed here.”

Jim lets a shaky laugh escape as he helps him up, supporting him the best he could. Oswald is pretty much a dead weight in his arms. He scurries inside, slowly lowering him on the couch before retrieving the first aid kit and gets to work.

He doesn’t say anything at first, working in silence, too busy wiping up the blood that was soaking the cloth he is using to clean the wound. But then he sees how deep the knife had went.

It is a nasty stab.

“What happened?” he asks softly, barely louder than a whisper, fingers brushing the cut.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Well, you’re a notorious criminal bleeding in my apartment. I kind of have to.”

“Are you going to kick me out?”

Jim looks up at that. Oswald is watching him, an intense look in his eyes, the same he always has when he is looking at him.

“No.” Of course not.

He does his best with the wound, which isn’t much, but the bleeding has stopped, at least. When he is done Oswald tries to get up, but Jim simply puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not even sure you can stand on your own. You’re going to have to sleep here.”

Oswald whimpers from the pain. “Alright.”

Despite Oswald’s protests, Jim helps him to his bed. Someone who half bled to death shouldn’t sleep on a couch. He gets him painkillers and a glass of water and says,

“You know, I was going to give you that umbrella back. You didn’t have to take such desperate measures.”

Oswald smiles, too tired to give him a proper laugh, and when he is leaving the bedroom, calls out to him.

“Thank you, Jim.”

Jim simply nods, closing the door slowly behind him.

__

  
Today is Jim’s day off, and it is fortunate because he spent a good part of the night scrubbing the blood off the hallway before it could be noticed. He awakes after only a few hours of what could pass as sleep on the cramped couch.

He decides to let Oswald sleep a little more and watches the sun rise with a cup of coffee, trying to figure out what exactly he had gotten himself into.

Eventually he enters the bedroom and tries not to wake Oswald, lifting the covers just enough to see that blood had soaked through the bandage. He shakes Oswald’s shoulder reluctantly.

“Oswald.”

Oswald slowly opens his eyes, lashes fluttering until his gaze focuses on him.

“I’m going to have to change the dressing. Will you help me?”

He acquiesces and sits up, wincing through the pain. Jim tries not to think about how weird it feels to have Oswald in his home, to take care of him in his bed.

__

  
They don’t talk much that day, because Oswald is drowsing most of the time, and Jim only checks up on him to get him painkillers at regular intervals and some food.

There’s something about having Oswald so close, incorporating him in his daily routine that makes Jim’s chest ache for something- something he won’t examine too closely.

__  
  
Another night on the couch and Jim is starting to feel like the shadow of himself. Harvey notices too.

“It’s not what you think,” Jim grunts, because he knows Harvey is about to comment on a nonexistent lady Jim surely spent the night with.

He gets through the day as best he can, but he knows he can’t keep that up much longer.

__  


Oswald is up when he gets home that evening. Still looks beaten and battered up, but he must have felt well enough to get out of bed, at least. He looks up from the couch where he is reading one of Jim’s books, and there’s something about the sight of Oswald in his shirt, loose and too big for him, that feels familiar. Even domestic.

This is a thought for another time.

“How do you feel about Thai?”

“I feel excellent about it,” Oswald answered.

__  


“I’ll take the couch tonight,” Oswald announces after dinner.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You sleep in the bed either way. I can see how exhausted you are. We can share.”

Oswald is looking at him, and Jim hesitates.

“I’m not going to kill you during the night, Jim.”

It isn’t what Jim is afraid of, not at all, and the very idea of it sounds stupid to him. No, he is growing too comfortable around Oswald, and the closer he lets Oswald get, the more his heart keeps pushing. He doesn’t want to know what for.

Pushing him away has always been a matter of self-preservation.

But he is too weary to make an argument, so instead he just says,

“Fine.”

Oswald looks at him dubiously.

“Fine?”

“I’m saying yes, alright? Don’t make me change my mind,” Jim says, and busies himself with the dishes.

__  
  
He enters the bedroom late that night, hoping to find Oswald already asleep. He isn’t – the lamp on the bedside table is on and he is sitting with the book he borrowed open on his lap. Jim doesn’t say a word and slips under the cover.

It has been a while, he thinks, since his bed has had another occupant.

“I’m sorry for being a bother, Jim. I swear it won’t happen again. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“It’s fine,” Jim simply says and leaves it at that, and Oswald turns off the light.

Jim ought to hate having him here. To be annoyed by his presence, at least, but he didn’t.

And he recognizes it now. What he had mistaken for awkwardness between them. It is tension.

He just wishes he didn’t have this realization now, when he could feel Oswald’s warmth besides him. When he could feel the covers shifting with his breathing, and could smell his scent.

It is intoxicating, and Jim realizes it has been eating him all day.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to fall asleep.

__  


Jim’s alarm wakes them both up the next morning. Their bodies had slid closer to each other during the night, as if seeking the other’s warmth.

When he gets out of the bathroom later, Oswald is making coffee.

“I think I’m well enough to go back home now,” he tells him. “Thank you – for everything.”

Jim didn’t expect that, and it unsettles him – because he suddenly realizes he doesn’t want to come back to an empty apartment.

“Stay one more day,” Jim suggests, and he didn’t intend it to sound like a plea. “You can leave tomorrow.”

Oswald glances at him and smiles. “Alright. I did want to finish that book,” he says, and hands him a cup of coffee.

__

  
Jim walks to the precinct feeling miserable. He had postponed thinking about it until now, but he has to face the facts:

He wants Oswald.

Nothing can happen.

__  


He buries himself in work that day, trying to shake some sense into him. To remember that criminals – _killers_ – like Oswald belong in jail, and not in his bed.

The worst of it is that it isn’t even just physical. He could deal with that. Did, earlier in the shower, leaving him feeling guilty and ashamed.

But it was about the way Oswald looks at him. What he sees in him, inexplicably. His clumsy attempts at flirting with him. How he never hides his smiles, beaming at him like he is the sun, like he's never wanted anything more.

It was about Oswald, simply Oswald.

Circling back to each other, ever bound to find one another.

It had always been inevitable.

__  


There are things that must come before one’s desires.

He’s made his peace with that when he goes home that evening. It’s driving him mad, but he’s accepted it.

When he arrives, Oswald is changing his bandage at the kitchen table.

“Here, let me,” and Jim takes the antiseptic from his hands.

His hands must feel cold on Oswald’s skin, he thinks.

“Will you tell me what happened now?”

“You won't like it,” he says, his head turned away.

Jim meets his eyes.

“Please.”

And Oswald starts talking, unraveling the events of that night. Explains how the wrong person had pushed him, insisting Jim was a weak spot they should rid Oswald – and Gotham – of. How Jim had never deserved his admiration. How everyone would be better off with him out of the picture, and all he had to do was say the word.

How he stood up for him with such passion it got him stabbed.

Oswald blushes at that.

“I don't regret it, Jim. You've more that proven your honor was worth defending.”

Jim is dumbstruck. For a moment, all he can do is stare.

He doesn't know what he had assumed happened – that Oswald had deserved it somehow, he supposes – but this isn’t it.

Instead, the revelation leaves him wanting to confess something he shouldn’t. He can’t bring himself to remember why. The conflict residing in his head, gone.

All it takes is a step forward for all the walls he had built to shatter.

Oswald looks almost shy, lips slightly parted as he takes a short breath and meets Jim’s gaze.

It isn’t like anything Jim had imagined. The few times he had indulged himself into thinking about giving in and kissing Oswald, he had expected it to feel wrong, leaving him hating himself for loving a criminal.

Maybe his heart took a wrong turn, maybe Jim fell for the one person he wasn’t supposed to. But it feels incredibly right to lean in and press his lips against Oswald’s, the touch light and gentle. To feel him melt as he takes his face in his hands and deepens the kiss. To be held by him and kissed back.

Maybe it is the wrong person, the wrong universe but the right kind of love.

Maybe it doesn’t matter, when someone looks at you with such softness in their eyes.


End file.
